


Somewhere I Have Never Traveled

by Eienvine



Series: Somewhere [2]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28273251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: Loki does not belong in this universe, but there is nothing left for him in his own universe, now that he is simply the traitor prince who failed to take over Midgard. Besides, his other self is dead here, and this universe's Sif is willing to let him tag along with her for a while. And he is not about to give up his second chance at happiness.
Relationships: Loki/Sif (Marvel)
Series: Somewhere [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152470
Comments: 25
Kudos: 63
Collections: Mischief and Mistletoe 2020





	Somewhere I Have Never Traveled

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LRRH17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRRH17/gifts).



> All right, so here's the deal, friends: I was utterly convinced that these stories were due later than they actually are, and I completely missed the e-mail and the Tumblr posts from our fine mods, so I did not get my story posted in time. That meant my assignment was defaulted on and assigned to a pinch hitter, Elenniel, who kindly stepped up to pick up my slack.
> 
> But when I contacted the mods, they encouraged me to post anyway, which means: LRRH17, you get two stories. And Elenniel, thank you so much for picking up my slack!
> 
> The prompt from LRRH17: "2012!Loki, who escaped with the Tesseract in Endgame, runs into post-Endgame-Sif. Snark, mischief, and that beautiful Sifki romance ensue as they embark on some kind of adventure together!" It turned out rather more somber than mischievous or snarky. Hope you like it anyway! It also ended up turning into an unofficial sequel to my earlier story, Somewhere Out There. I tried to make it so that you don't need to read it to make sense of this one, but . . . I guess you might.

. . . . . .

**Trinawa**

. . . . . .

It’s amazing what a difference a decade and an alternative universe can make.

Loki and Sif were never as close to each other as either of them was to Thor, but still, they hunted together, quested together, camped together, trained together, for centuries. And Loki had assumed those were bonds that wouldn’t weaken—not quickly, anyway.

But he and this universe’s Sif are just a little out of step: striking at the wrong moments, moving at different times. The dragon they’re facing nearly takes a piece out of Loki’s side, nearly escapes twice, nearly burns down the Trinawan forest.

And when it’s finally over and the beast lays vanquished on the forest floor, Sif looks at Loki a long moment across the fallen body, doubt and concern written in her eyes.

He can just hear what she’s about to say: this was a bad idea, they don’t make for a good partnership, it’d better if Loki struck out on his own (or returned to his own universe). And he can’t bear it—can’t bear being sent away from Sif when he has finally found a version of her that will allow him to stay by his side, when she is a light that has gone out in his own universe.

So he speaks before she can, all false confidence. “Well, we’re a little out of practice, but I think another quest or two should take care of that.” And then he waits for her answer, and hates how desperate he is for her to agree. Loki always used to believe he did not need anyone, but after years of wandering a wide array of universes with only the Tesseract for company, he has learned to doubt his earlier confidence.

Sif looks at him a long time, takes a deep breath, hesitates, and then says, “Fine.”

Loki’s heart sings in relief.

. . . . . .

**Drelys**

. . . . . .

“See?” Loki demands triumphantly as he extends a hand to help Sif to her feet. “We just needed to find a rhythm together. And aren’t you glad you have me along now?”

But Sif looks at his offered hand with immense suspicion, and though she does eventually accept it, her expression tells him that even his saving her life just now hasn’t quite erased her concerns about taking him on as a partner.

He supposes that’s not unreasonable of her; he did betray everyone who’s ever loved him and try to take over or destroy three different realms. And the Loki she knew, the one who reformed himself and in the end gave his life trying to save his brother, is five years dead. He is not that Loki; he is an interloper from another version of the universe, one who snatched the Tesseract after the Chitauri invasion of Midgard and vanished, and therefore never went through the experiences that caused her Loki to reform.

I can be that person too, he wants to tell her, but the fact is that he’s not sure; his years of wandering have mellowed him, but he’s not certain they’ve mellowed him enough that he would gladly die for Thor and for Asgard. So he says nothing, and she says nothing.

But when they’ve returned to her ship, she says casually “I’ve got a lead on a job on Morag,” clearly just assuming he’ll want to come with her. And he can’t help smiling.

. . . . . .

**Xandar**

. . . . . .

Their contact at the skyport does not look remotely how Loki would expect a high-ranking officer in the Nova Corps to look: a round, friendly face topped with curly hair, a build that is a little more pudgy than powerful.

But he must be the right person, because Sif strides forward and greets him with a polite nod. “Denarian Dey?”

“And you must be Sif,” he says. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. We’re in a bit of a tight spot, since the Guardians had to back out so unexpectedly. But you came highly recommended by Thor.”

Loki blinks in surprise—Sif had not mentioned, when she told him she they'd been hired to track down an escaped convinct, that this job came through Thor—but he keeps his face impassive.

“We’re happy to help,” says Sif evenly.

“And your friend is . . . ?”

“Hired muscle,” Sif lies smoothly. “Found him in a bar on Pyree.” All of it technically true, but somewhat incomplete.

Denarian Dey nods. “Well, if you trust him . . . How about we go to my office and I can tell you what you need to know about this escaped con?”

Later, when they’re back on Sif’s ship, preparing to depart, Loki can’t help asking the question on his tongue. “Are you ashamed to tell people who you’re actually traveling with?”

Sif looks over at him, surprised, and then snorts derisively. “First, if I’d said the name ‘Loki Odinson’ to that man, he’d have had no idea who you were. You are not as well known as you seem to think—at least not outside of the Nine Realms.” And then her expression softens a little. “And second, I thought I was doing you a favor. You told me you didn’t want this universe’s Thor to know that you’re here. If I’d told Denarian Dey your name, there’s a chance he’d have mentioned it to Thor.” She raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, and you want to see Thor . . . ?”

“No,” he says automatically, and she shrugs and returns to the controls of the ship. And he tells himself that he means it: he has no desire to see Thor, in this or any universe.

He doesn’t really believe himself.

. . . . . .

**Madrizar**

. . . . . .

It’s in a hotel bar on the icy planet of Madrizar that Sif finally gives in and starts socializing with Loki. They’ve been traveling together for months now, and Loki has finally started to cautiously trust that she’s not about to decide she wants nothing to do with him and send him off. But their relationship thus far has been purely professional: they work together, but when the workday is done, she immediately returns to her bunk on the ship or her bedroll around the fire or her room in whatever accommodations they’ve rented planetside. She really could not make it any more clear that she is not ready to renew their friendship (not that they were ever all that friendly, even back before Loki’s betrayal, back before the Midgardian heroes’ meddling with time travel caused their universe to fracture into multiple timelines).

But tonight she hesitates before the door of the inn, her hazel eyes fixed on him, before saying (in a tone that is not as casual as she seems to think it is) “Shall we grab a drink?”

He is only too ready to agree, and soon they are ensconced at a corner table in a tavern, drinking some local concoction that hits Loki a little harder than he expects and leaves him feeling loose-limbed and warm. 

Perhaps Sif feels the same way, because although she says little, she does look over at him and smile once or twice. Loki counts that as a victory.

. . . . . .

**Stent**

. . . . . .

They’ve been floating above the barren, purple surface of Stent for a day and a half before Sif starts making small talk with him. “You’re tolerating this stakeout very patiently,” she observes. “The Loki I knew would have started complaining hours ago.”

Surprise forces honesty from him. “I’m trying very hard to stay on your good side,” he admits. “I don't want you to get irritated and kick me off your ship. You’re the only person I know in this universe.”

“You could return to your own universe,” she points out reasonably, and his heart sinks a little that she still seems to be trying to get rid of him. But then it lifts again when she assures him, “I’m not trying to make you leave. You’ve been useful. I am . . . content with our arrangement.”

It’s the closest that any version of Sif has come to complimenting him in years.

“But still,” she says, “do you think you’d ever want to return to your own universe?”

“There is nothing for me there,” he says. “I burned all those bridges a long time ago. Besides, as far as I’m aware, Thanos is still alive in that universe. If he got his hands on the Tesseract . . . as long as I’m here with it, that universe is safe.”

“Perhaps what you say of Thanos is true,” she says, “but perhaps you’re also using that as an excuse to avoid reconciling with your family.”

She always did see through his lies a little better than nearly anyone else.

“Believe me, they’re happier without me.”

“You’re a fool,” she says without heat in her voice. “If my family still lived . . .”

There’s a long silence, but it’s not a tense one. “Perhaps I am a fool,” he admits quietly.

This is the longest personal conversation they’ve had since he found her in this universe and convinced her to let him tag along with her, so he dares to ask, “Do you ever think you’ll stop questing around the universe?”

She shrugs, and the movement looks weary. “I don’t know what I would do if I stopped,” she admits, her gaze fixed on the inky blackness outside the viewport, and he holds his breath so as not to make too much noise and remind her that she is confessing something personal to an alternate version of the traitor prince of Asgard. “This is . . . the only thing I know. The only thing I’m good at. The only thing I’m good for.”

“You are more than your sword,” he fires back automatically, his need to correct her (how could she think so little of herself) overriding his need to keep from annoying her. “You have a great deal to offer the universe.”

She looks over at him, her expression wearily amused. “I am a warrior without a king, Loki. I am a shieldmaiden sworn to defend a realm that no longer exists. I am nothing.”

“I suppose you could return to Midgard, and join the Asgardian colony there.”

“You’re saying you want me to give up this life?”

“Obviously not,” he says, “or I’ll be out of a job. I simply . . . don’t want you to think your only worth comes from how you swing a sword. You are clever and compassionate and honest and dependable and loyal and trustworthy.” He hesitates, then admits, “I always assumed you’d marry Thor, and as much as I hated the idea, I knew that at least you’d make an excellent Allmother. Probably a better monarch than Thor.”

Sif blinks a few times. “You hated the idea of my marrying Thor?”

And Loki wills himself not to flush in embarrassment, searching desperately for a lie to cover this up.

His dignity is saved by a proximity alarm. “I think that’s our smugglers,” Sif said, distracted from her question. And Loki heaves a sigh of relief.

. . . . . .

**Usarkia**

. . . . . .

“What is all this?”

Loki looks up as Sif steps out of the trees, her eyes wide as they take in the massive bonfire he’s built. It’s lucky they landed the ship in a large clearing, so there’s space enough for both the ship and the fire.

He straightens up with his most confident smile, and is embarrassed how much acting is required to keep that smile up. He’s always been a little less sure of himself than he admits, and he’s always been especially unsure of himself where Sif is concerned, but all these months of traveling together have made it even worse: Sif is his whole world these days, literally, and when that’s combined with his centuries-long infatuation with her . . . well, it matters massively to him, more than it even did back on Asgard, that she think well of him.

“I was onboard plotting the course for tomorrow’s journey, and I happened to notice: today would have been Midsummer, on Asgard.”

Sif’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and then her whole face softens in fond nostalgia.

“I know we can’t do much to celebrate here, but I thought we could have a bonfire, and perhaps a meal? That minced meat we bought on Parthea reminds me a great deal of kjøttkaker.”

Sif hesitates, and then she grins. “Sounds wonderful.”

An hour later, they are both happy and relaxed and warm, well-fed and drunk enough that when the thought occurs to Loki that they need some Midsummer songs, the filter that would normally tell him to keep his mouth shut seems to malfunction. So he starts singing a folk tune under his breath, and he sees Sif grin, and after a moment she joins in.

He gets louder, and she gets louder, and soon their voices are ringing through the clearing. Sif can’t carry a tune, but that just endears her to Loki even more, and the grin on her face as she looks across the fire at him sets his heart to pounding. It’s a perfect night.

And when they’ve put the fire out and gone on the ship to sleep, Sif reaches out to grab his hand. “Thank you for tonight,” she says, squeezing his hand—he cannot remember the last time she touched him so casually.

It really is a perfect night.

. . . . . .

**Hala**

. . . . . .

Loki is not accustomed to thinking of himself as a powerful warrior, as he tends to rely on brains and magic over brawn. So he is a little surprised at how efficiently he tears through the defenses at the decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of Kree-Lar. Apparently, all he needs to become a mighty warrior is the right motivation.

And speaking of motivation:

“Loki?” Sif stares in surprise when he blasts open the door to the cell where the thieves have been keeping her. There’s a cut on her chin and a vivid red mark around her eye that’s going to darken into quite the black eye later, and it’s all Loki can do to keep from finding the men he’s already incapacitated and knocking them around a little more in revenge.

“You all right? If so we should go before any reinforcements arrive.”

She blinks at him a few times, and then she smiles. “I’m fine. And it appears I won’t need to put my escape plan into action.”

Loki grins back, but as they stride together out of the cell, he can’t help asking, “I know it’s good to have a plan of your own. But—you knew I would come for you, didn’t you?”

There’s a long pause, and when Sif answers, she’s grinning. “Yes, I know you’ll come for me.”

. . . . . .

**Knowhere**

. . . . . .

Knowhere may have been badly damaged by Thanos’ visit, but the residents there are nothing if not resourceful and resilient, and the place has been restored to much of its former glory (if a place like Knowhere can be said to have any glory). And Loki is glad of it, because the place has surprisingly good restaurants; even the scum of the galaxy like to eat well, it seems. This is the best meal he's had in weeks.

“I’d almost forgotten what decent food tastes like,” he enthuses to Sif. “I’ve been dying of boredom eating ship rations and whatever we can hunt.”

Sif rolls her eyes. “Maybe you’re more suited to a life of luxury than one of adventure,” she says, but there’s no heat in it, and he just smiles. He long ago stopped fearing that she was going to tell him she no longer wants to travel with him, so he no longer takes comments like that as a sign she’s trying to get rid of him.

“I can like luxury _and_ adventure,” he says reasonably.

“I confess there are luxuries I miss,” she admits. “Like sleeping through the night without the autopilot waking me up for some silly thing every hour.”

“I miss having an on-call masseuse,” he confides, and Sif snorts with laughter.

He loves her laughter, and for a moment he can’t help admiring her; she looks even more beautiful than usual tonight. He wasn’t sure what he thought of her new chin-length hairstyle when first he found her in this universe, but he’s come to prefer it to her long hair. She’s wearing makeup for the first time in weeks (she looks stunning without makeup as well, but her wearing it is an interesting change of pace), and she’s dressed in a lovely crimson dress. As she smiles at him across the candlelit table, he could almost pretend that this pristine restaurant isn’t in the middle of a junk heap built in a cosmic being’s skull, that the other patrons of the restaurant aren’t thieves and smugglers and fugitives, that they aren’t wandering the far-flung reaches of the galaxy because their realm was destroyed and neither of them really belongs anywhere anymore.

The thought reminds him of the reason he suggested this dinner tonight, and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small package, wrapped in a bit of silk: a lovely dagger that caught his eye as he wandered Knowhere this afternoon.

Sif looks at the package he's offering to her and then at him, her eyebrows raised in question.

He shrugs, suddenly embarrassed. “I must have you well armed,” he says his tone so exaggeratedly haughty that he knows Sif will realize he’s joking. “I need to you protect me out there, after all.”

She takes the package from his hand, and the brush of her fingers against his deflates his defensiveness and ego. “It’s a gift,” he manages to make himself confess. “Because—I don’t know if you realized—today is an anniversary of sorts. It’s been one Asgardian year since we met in that bar on Pyree.”

Suddenly he panics that she’s going to refuse the gift—what was he thinking, she barely tolerates him, she doesn’t want a gift celebrating their friendship—but before he can say something to try to cut the sudden tension he feels, Sif grins.

“I know,” she says, and pulls a small box from the bag she brought with her. “I got you something, too.”

So maybe she does more than just tolerate him.

. . . . . .

**Calurnia**

. . . . . .

Loki has taken to telling Sif stories sometimes, to pass the time in the evenings before bed. He was hesitant to do so at first, because all the stories he knows are from the Nine Realms, and he was not certain that either of them was ready to hear tales that would remind them so much of things that have been lost.

But she asks him to tell her a story one night, and to his surprise, it makes them both happy. He is filled with a quiet nostalgia—smiling and sad all at once—to remember the childhood home he left behind. Sif also seems to find it comforting to hear the things that remind her of Asgard.

“You should write these down,” she tells him one evening. “You might be the only person left in this whole universe who remembers some of these stories.”

Loki doesn’t know what good that would do—he has no intention of going to New Asgard to give them his written recollections of Asgardian folklore—but in time, the thought of these stories he’s always loved vanishing when he dies comes to sadden him. So he starts spending his downtime writing down every story and song he can think of.

Sif smiles when he tells her of it, and he thinks, not for the first time, that every smile he earns from Sif is a sweet victory.

So it feels extraordinary when, one night around the campfire on Calurnia, he tells her a comedic tale he learned from an old skald on Asgard, and she laughs long and loud and clear.

. . . . . .

**Arago-7**

. . . . . .

For two people with such strong wills and opposite personalities, who’ve had only each other for company for a year and a half, it’s honestly surprising that they don’t fight more than they do. But when they do fight, it tends to be a doozy.

But their fight on Arago-7 is their worst by far.

There’s a strange tension in the air, or maybe they’re just both exhausted from the difficult line of work they’ve chosen. But whatever the reason, it starts as a silly argument but then it escalates wildly, until she’s yelling at him that he betrayed Asgard and sent the Destroyer to kill her and invaded Midgard—at least she has the decency to only blame him for what he actually did, and not to hold him accountable for anything that this universe’s Loki did before his death—and he’s yelling at her that she’s always been Thor’s loyal little lapdog and that she chose a terrible person to follow because now the rightful Allfather is ignoring his responsibilities in New Asgard so he can go on adventures, and she’s yelling at him that he’s a coward who fled his universe to escape the consequences of his actions, and at least her Loki found a way to take responsibility for his actions and redeem himself in the end.

It ends in both of them storming off. Loki stalks angrily through the city, no real destination in mind, trying to blow off steam. The Pheragots he passes look at him in alarm—they are a famously mild-mannered people, and likely find his angry expression worrisome—but he ignores them and keeps on stalking.

He walks for hours, and in time his anger fades, then drains away completely, leaving behind a lonely sort of self-doubt that's all too familiar: he spent his entire childhood trying to hide that self-doubt under layers of arrogance and intelligence. Maybe Sif’s right, and he is a coward and a traitor who seems unlikely to redeem himself. Maybe Sif is right to be furious with him. Maybe Sif is at this moment preparing to fly away and leave him behind.

But when he returns to the skyport, the ship is still there and Sif is sitting on the loading ramp. That she’s waiting for him is clear from the way she perks upon seeing him, but he has no idea how to react to that, and she just sits there and watches him approach. So, unsure if this is the right thing to do, he seats himself carefully next to her, and they sit in silence a long few moments.

“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment, and it’s like that breaks open the dam and clears away his stubborn pride that was keeping him silent.

“No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I was . . . unkind.”

“So was I,” she says. “You aren’t my Loki, that’s true, but I see you . . . trying to be better. I see you making an effort to prove you’ve changed and I can trust you.”

“And you’re . . . extraordinary, and I’m sorry for anything belittling I said.” He hesitates. “I wasn’t wrong about Thor, though.”

A surprised laugh escapes from Sif. “To be honest . . . I agree with you, a little.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, both staring up at the sky above Arago-7, listening to the spaceships taking off and landing around them.

“I thought you might leave me here,” Loki confesses finally.

“I thought about it briefly,” she admits. “But never seriously. It would be dishonorable of me to abandon you. Plus . . . I enjoy traveling with you. You’re good in a fight, and you’re good company.”

“Likewise,” he says, and feels his chest grow warm.

Another silence falls, and then she speaks up again. “It’s true that I used to be ‘Thor’s lapdog,’ as you said. But not anymore.”

“I see that.”

She sighs. “The truth is . . . I used to have such strong feelings for him. Which was an utter waste of my time. He never looked my way once.”

“It’s hard to control who you have feelings for,” Loki murmurs. He doesn’t want to scare her off, but he’s desperate to know. “But you no longer care for him?”

“Not like that,” she confirms, and it’s like a weight has slipped from Loki’s shoulders.

“Well, his loss,” he says.

Sif snorts and bumps him with her shoulder. And he knows they’re going to be okay.

. . . . . .

**Clarius**

. . . . . .

After their massive fight, Sif suggests that they take a vacation. They’ve got more than enough money to do so—they’re both very good at what they do, and these days they have a steady stream of deep-pocketed clients who are happy to pay them good money to hunt down criminals and slay dangerous beasts—and it seems like they both need some downtime.

So they go to a beach resort on Clarius and rent two bungalows on opposite ends of the resort; Sif says they both probably need some time alone, and while Loki would far prefer to spend his vacation with her, he’s not willing to admit as much to her, so he agrees.

And it’s nice, he has to admit, to sleep through the night on a comfortable bed, to have delicious food delivered by room service, to wander the beach and feel the sun on his face, to spend time spellcasting in his bungalow. He still misses Sif, though.

So he’s immensely gratified when there’s a knock on his door on the fourth day of their vacation, and he opens it to see Sif standing there, looking a little embarrassed.

“Do you want to take a walk?” she asks.

She’s bored, he realizes, and maybe even lonely. And he does his best to keep a triumphant grin from spreading over his face. It seems that Sif prefers spending time with him to being alone, just as he prefers spending time with her, which is the most wonderful thing he’s heard in ages. But if he says something to draw attention to it now, she might change her mind and leave.

So he shrugs casually. “Sounds good.”

. . . . . .

**Vanaheim**

. . . . . .

Loki is against taking the job on Vanaheim from the start. His face is known there, and anyway he knows the place will bring up memories he’d rather forget.

But Sif insists; the pay is excellent, the client is an old friend of hers, and as she reasonably points out, he’s more than capable of disguising himself while they’re there.

So to Vanaheim they go, and it’s as bad as he’d feared: in that familiar landscape, he hears echoes of his past, of a thousand visits and quests and hunts in these verdant forests and plains. He can almost hear the laughter of Thor and the Warriors Three, the voices of his parents, and the aching in his heart reminds him of why he’s been so keenly avoiding anything that reminds him of his past.

When the hill trolls are finally slain, Sif, who’s been watching him curiously all this time, brings him to a clearing by a waterfall. He recognizes this place; the Asgardian warriors frequently used it as a camp. But there’s something new here: a standing stone, inscribed with runes.

Curious, he steps forward to read the runes. And then he feels strangely dizzy.

 _In honor of Loki Odinson, 967-2018_ _  
_ _Brother, friend, and noble son of Asgard_

He’s never seen his own grave before. He’s not fond of the sensation.

“Thor and I erected it,” Sif says behind him. “He came to find me after Thanos was defeated and told me everything. And then we came here to create a memorial to the fallen prince.”

“This is a novel experience,” Loki manages to say lightly. “Is there a body under that stone?”

She shakes her head, and he feels a wave of relief. His other self's corpse is probably floating through space somewhere, which is an alarming idea, but still, it would have been worse to know that said corpse was buried beneath his feet here in this clearing.

They stand in silence a moment, looking at the rock, and then Sif says, “I hadn’t seen Thor cry that much since his mother died. He loved Loki so much. It broke his heart—it broke both of our hearts—that Loki refused to see it. That he refused to acknowledge how sincere his brother’s love was. At least, right up until the end.” She sighs, then says quietly, “I think Loki finally understood, in the end.”

There’s a knot of misery in Loki’s chest, growing until it threatens to choke him, and he stares at the ground, rather than look at the inscription on the stone. _Brother, friend, and noble son of Asgard._ Maybe he was all those things. Maybe he was always all those things. Maybe he has been a massive fool, in every universe.

But in this universe, his other self changed. In this universe, his other self redeemed himself in the end.

Maybe this Loki can do the same. Maybe he hasn’t ruined everything beyond repair.

. . . . . .

**Galador**

. . . . . .

It takes another two months—another eight or ten jobs—before Loki finally brings himself to ask the question that’s been on his tongue since Vanaheim.

“Do you think this universe’s Thor would want to see me?”

Sif’s answering smile is small. “I think he would.”

. . . . . .

**Zen-Whoberi**

. . . . . .

They make contact with the Guardians of the Galaxy and learn that they’re on Zen-Whoberi, home of the green-skinned warrior woman. Sif tells Thor she has something very important to speak to him of, and he invites her to come visit him.

So Sif and Loki travel to Zen-Whoberi, and Loki hides in his bunk while Sif welcomes Thor onto their ship and sits him down for a serious conversation.

“You are welcome to tell me to stop at any time,” she reassures Thor (Loki is listening in via a spell—the god of lies has no compunctions about eavesdropping). “You don't have to hear this if you don't want to.”

Loki can hear no answer, so Thor must have nodded.

“When the Midgardian heroes used time travel to collect the Infinity Stones,” she explains, “it caused the timestream to splinter into many alternate universes.”

“All right,” Thor says slowly, and hearing his voice for the first time in years causes Loki’s heart to leap.

“In one of these alternate universes, Loki managed to steal the Tesseract after his invasion of Midgard. He used it to travel his own universe for years, and then started to jump between universes.”

“How do you know this?” Thor asks suspiciously.

“I’ve met him,” says Sif simply. “And I came here to ask whether you’d like to meet him too.” She hesitates. “He is not the Loki who died at Thanos’ hand,” she warns. “He has mellowed a great deal since his Midgardian invasion, but from how you’ve described our Loki, this one is not quite so . . . reformed.” Another hesitation. “But I believe he is trying. I have come to trust that his heart has truly softened.”

“Does he want to meet me?”

“He requested it.”

There’s a long silence, during which Loki is not sure he breathes at all. And then Thor says, “I would like to meet him. Where is he?”

“He is in a bunk on this ship,” Sif says.

Loki is listening so hard to the silence that follows that he is quite startled when there’s a sudden knocking on his bunk door. He opens it to see Sif nodding gravely at him. He nods back, takes a steadying breath, and follows her.

It is Thor, and it is not. His hair is longer and messier than it was; he seems to have a false eye in this universe. He is a little heavier than the Thor Loki last saw, and he has to admit he derives some pleasure from seeing Thor fat. But it’s hard to gloat when most of all, Thor looks tired and haunted in a way Loki didn’t know the god of thunder was capable of.

He once dreamed of seeing Thor fallen, a ghost of his former self. But now that he’s seeing it, he doesn’t like it at all.

Thor’s eyes widen on seeing him, as though he hadn’t quite believed Sif’s words. “Brother,” he whispers.

Loki doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know what he feels. So he answers simply, “Thor.”

Sif rolls her eyes fondly at the two of them. “I’m heading out to the marketplace,” she says. “I think you two need time to talk.” And she leaves them alone.

“What—how did this happen?” Thor finally asks.

Loki knows Sif already gave Thor the basic rundown, but he’s glad to have been given a topic to talk about (he asked for this meeting, but now that it’s happening, he is so uncomfortable that he regrets ever bringing it up). So he tells him the story in detail, Thor nodding all the while, his gaze riveted on Loki’s face.

“And how are things in your universe?” Thor asks eagerly. “Is Asgard well?”

“Asgard is still standing,” says Loki, “but badly damaged in an attack by the Dark Elves some ten or twelve years ago.”

Thor nods. “That happened in this universe as well. I released you from the dungeons so you could help us, and together we defeated them.” He hesitates. “You were stabbed, and we thought you dead. But it transpired that you were merely feigning death to get away.”

“That sounds like something I would do,” Loki says with a ghost of a smile. “But, Thor, remember that wasn’t me. Not precisely.”

“I know,” Thor says quickly. “I understand. It’s just . . . this is all a little confusing. Was anyone hurt in the Dark Elf attack?”

“Many were killed,” Loki says, then hesitates before speaking the fact that has haunted him for years. “Including Sif.”

Thor smiles sadly at that. “Whereas in this universe, she was one of the few Asgardians to survive Ragnarok.”

“She told me,” Loki says quietly. “Most of the realm was destroyed, correct? Frigga and Odin, the Warriors Three, Heimdall . . .”

Thor nods grimly. “Though our mother died in the Dark Elf attack.”

“But the survivors have settled on Midgard?” Loki asks, trying to change the subject and dispel the thick gloom now clogging the air.

“Yes, in Norway,” Thor says. “They are doing well.”

“But you are not with them?”

Thor turns away, looking a little ashamed.

“That is not the Thor I knew,” Loki says quietly. “He loved Asgard more than anything.”

“I know,” says Thor. “I . . . needed time.”

“And now you’ve had it,” Loki says. He does not know why it matters to him so much that Thor not turn his back on his realm, but suddenly it does. “When will you return?”

Thor shrugs. “I’ve turned the kingship over to a Valkyrie called Brunhilde. From her reports, she’s doing very well.”

Loki snorts softly. “So much angst and pain over which of us would be king, and now you’ve just given the throne away.”

Thor nods, looking thoroughly abashed, and Loki relents. It no longer pleases him the way it used to, to best Thor in an argument. Not when this Thor has been through so much already. And not after the time Loki has spent in the last decade or two reflecting on his betrayals, on what they cost him.

So he decides to extend a proverbial olive branch. “It is good to see you. I have . . . missed my brother.”

Thor looks up, eyes hopeful. “I have missed you as well. I know . . . I know you are not the Loki who died on the _Statesman._ But you are still the Loki of my youth—my brother. My best friend. All those memories of us growing up together are still real. They are still real to both of us.”

That’s an excellent point, and Loki smiles a little. “Recall the time we climbed out on the roof to watch that meteor shower, and Mother and Father were so angry when they found us?”

“They forbade us from attending the Midsummer feast,” Thor recalls with a grin. “Recall the time with the geese?”

They slip into fond reminiscing for a while, and the tension in Loki's shoulders slowly vanishes. But Thor is still in the grip of strong emotions, clearly, because when there is a lull in the conversation, his eyes suddenly fill with tears. "What is it?" Loki asks, a little alarmed.

Thor gives him a tremulous smile. “You are not the Loki who died in this universe,” he says. “But you are still my Loki. You are still my brother. And I have missed you terribly. Even if you—if he—hated me all those years.”

Loki stares a long time at Thor, once lost to him, but here in front of him again. Thor lost his brother in this universe, and Loki left his brother behind in another universe. They have both lost each other, and yet here they are, together again. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe the Norns have allowed them to find each other again; Loki just had to cross universes to do it.

So he says, choosing his words carefully, “If your Loki had the same mind and heart as me—and I assume he did—he never stopped loving you. Any of you. Even when he was furious with you all, even when he was plotting against Asgard, even when he was convinced that he was the victim in all this and that he had no intention of returning to his family . . . he—I—never stopped loving you.”

Thor is openly crying now, and he steps forward to wrap his arms around Loki. “Thank you, brother.”

And Loki wraps his arms around Thor’s form, cautiously at first, and then with great urgency and feeling. “I have missed you . . . brother.”

. . . . . .

**Seknarf Nine**

. . . . . .

Thor wants to stay with Loki, but Sif has accepted a job on Seknarf Nine and Thor has already agreed to help the Guardians of the Galaxy with a major, long-term job on New Korbin, so they part ways with a promise that as soon as Thor is done with this job, they’ll talk about the future. (He confesses to Loki before he leaves that as much as he enjoys traveling with the Guardians, this new development has him thinking that maybe it’s time they go their separate ways.)

Loki bids his brother—he has decided to consider this Thor his brother, despite . . . everything—goodbye, and returns to the ship with a surprisingly heavy heart. Sif seems to notice his mood, for, in an uncharacteristic gesture, she wraps her arms around his shoulders in a very brief hug.

Which definitely does a lot for his mood.

That seems to open up the floodgates, for in the days that follow, she slowly becomes much more willing than she was in the past to touch him. No more hugs—Sif is not really the hugging type—but where she used to communicate with words and gestures and looks, she’s suddenly much more willing to put her hand on his arm or his leg, to squeeze his shoulder, to stop his progress by throwing her arm in front of his chest. He rather likes it.

He likes it, but he tells himself not to read too much into it, because Sif has never and will never feel for him the way he feels for her. If she wouldn’t give him the time of day in Asgard, before he was a traitor, why would she do so now? He technically doesn’t even belong in this universe, after all.

Still, it’s hard to remember to be rational about all this when their target on Seknarf Nine captures them and throws them into a cage with a massive tiger-like creature, and Sif steps protectively in front of Loki without hesitation, without thought. She’s always looked after him to some extent—she’s the better fighter of the two of them, after all—but there’s something about the back of her shoulder pressed up against his chest that feels more personal than usual, somehow.

And when she has slain the beast, she looks back at Loki with what looks like real concern in her eyes. “Are you all right?”

He’s suspected it for a while now, but this is the first time he’s been absolutely certain: Sif likes him. She doesn’t just tolerate him; he isn’t just useful. She cares about his well-being.

He’s smiling about it for days afterward.

. . . . . .

**Ligra**

. . . . . .

Loki awakes to lamplight reflecting off the roof of a cave, immense pain in his torso, and a fever coursing through him. For a moment he fights back panic, rifling through his memories to recall how he got here, but then two things happen at once: he recalls the massive dragon that decided he looked like a tasty snack, and he turns his head enough to see he’s not alone in the cave.

“Sif,” he manages to whisper.

And the look she turns on him—of genuine relief and joy that he is awake—might be the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

“You’re awake,” she says, scrambling across the cave floor toward him. “How do you feel? Can you move?”

He manages to lift his head and his arms, but it’s painful, and he drops back to the ground with a groan.

“Thank the Norns,” she whispers. “You’ve been out for three days, Loki. I truly thought you would not wake up.” She reaches toward him, as though she intends to touch his face, but then retracts her hands back to her lap.

Loki doesn’t like that, and he’s too tired and disoriented and feverish to remember that he’s not supposed to admit he wants to touch her, so he lifts the arm nearest her and gropes around weakly until he touches her leg.

Sif, looking baffled, reaches for that arm, and Loki gratefully grabs her hand tightly, no intention of letting ago (possibly ever again).

“Loki, you need to eat,” she says. “You’ve had nothing in three days.”

“I don’t want to let go of you,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting closed.

(He is going to be so embarrassed when his head is on straight again.)

When Sif speaks, he hears amusement in her voice. “If you promise to eat and drink something, and take something for that fever, I’ll let you hold my hand as long as you like.”

“You’re going to regret that,” he mumbles. “But I accept.”

She extracts her hand from his, crosses the cave, and comes back with water and gruel and medication. Loki obediently eats and drinks, then immediately reclaims Sif’s hand. She laughs a little, but then her fingers tighten around his. “I was truly worried about you, Loki.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since anyone cared if I died.”

He hears a quiet intake of breath, but he’s too disoriented to make anything of it. And he drifts back to sleep.

They spend three more days in that cave, waiting for Loki’s fever to break and him to heal enough to be moved. Loki spends the first two days in and out of consciousness; if Sif is not by his side when he wakes, he calls her name until she comes over and takes his hand again.

On the third day, he awakes to see that Sif has pulled her bedroll over next to his, so she can hold his hand while she sleeps. Even with the pain still coursing through him, it’s the best way he can imagine waking up: Sif at his side, her form lit by soft lamplight, her face serene in repose. He examines her in the low light a moment longer, a soft smile on his face.

And then his eyes fly open wide as he remembers what a fool he has made of himself these last few days, demanding that Sif constantly hold his hand. Overcome with embarrassment, he carefully extracts his hand from hers and moves over to the other side of his bedroll, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Oh Norns, what an idiot he has been! And now she knows—she must know—mustn’t she? But then . . .

He has never dared to admit his feelings to Sif, in this universe or any other. But he hinted at them once, back when he first found her in this universe, and he explained that was traversing universes because he was desperate to find one where she wasn't dead. They haven’t spoken of it again, and he usually tries to hope that she misunderstood or forgot what he was saying. But now . . .

He lies there, stiffly feigning sleep, until Sif wakes.

She feels his forehead and declares that his fever has broken. She asks how he feels, and he tells her the truth: still sore, but better. She asks what he remembers of the last five days, and he lies: almost nothing, just snatches of sound and light.

He thinks she believes him. And when he has managed to shakily crawl outside and relieve himself, he returns to see that she’s moved her bedroll back to the other side of the cave.

They stay there a day longer, until Loki can be moved, and Sif does not touch him, or even sit by his side, again. But he sees her shoot glances at him when she thinks he’s not looking.

Something fundamental has shifted between them. He just wishes he had the courage to ask her what it is.

. . . . . .

**Asgard**

. . . . . .

Thor’s last mission with the Guardians is completed, and the two crews agree to meet in the stretch of space that Asgard used to inhabit. “I’ve been wanting to go back,” Sif explains to Loki, “just out of curiosity. And apparently so has Thor.”

So the two ships meet in the rubble field that used to be Asgard. It is a blessing that all that remains are chunks of rock; Loki is not sure he could have stood it if he’d been able to recognize anything from his childhood home.

Thor gently leaps from the Guardians’ ship to theirs (as Asgardians, they can withstand prolonged exposure to space), and when he is safely aboard, he greets them both with warm hugs. And then he surprises them with news.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said to me, Loki,” he says. “About turning my back on Asgard. And I had a message from Brunhilde last week; she’s having a bit of difficulty dealing with a few Midgardian governments. She thought I might have better luck with them. She’s asking me to come back to New Asgard and co-rule with her.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve decided to say yes.”

“I think that’s a very good choice,” says Sif, and Loki agrees.

“But there’s more,” says Thor. “I came here today to ask both of you to come with me.”

Sif and Loki both stare at him.

“You needn’t stay forever,” he goes on, “but you could at least make it your home base. You know, return between quests. There are so few Asgardians left; we need to be unified. Besides, you two are my closest friends in all the world, and I’ve missed you so much lately. I couldn’t bear watching you fly off and not knowing if I’ll ever see you again.”

“I don’t know that this face is welcome in New Asgard,” says Loki.

“Of course it is,” says Thor. “Everyone knows how you—how the other you—sacrificed yourself to fight Thanos. And if anyone still objects, I will tell them that they had better learn to live with having you around.”

Of course Thor would believe it's so easy. But Loki doesn't have the heart to tell him no just yet.

“Will you at least think about it?” Thor asks them.

They agree that they will; he returns to the Guardians’ ship, saying he needs to pack his things and tell the Guardians of his plans, and they promise to give him an answer in the morning. And when he is gone, Loki and Sif sit silently together on the sofa in the common room.

“He’s right that it’d be wise for the remaining Asgardians to be unified,” Sif says finally. “If we’re ever to rebuild our culture and society.”

“I suppose I could deliver the records I made of all the old stories,” Loki says slowly.

“And it’d be nice to spend time with Thor again.”

“That would be nice,” Loki agrees.

There’s another long silence.

“I’ve enjoyed adventuring,” Sif says. “But maybe it’s time to put down roots. Dedicate myself to Asgard again.” She looks over at Loki. “Would you come? If I went?”

Loki is torn. He does not share Thor’s faith that the people of Asgard will welcome back this version of Loki—it’s true that the other Loki fought to protect the realm during Ragnarok, and died trying to stop Thanos, but all this Loki has done is flit about the galaxy and have adventures.

But on the other hand, Sif is, as he has said many times, the only person in this universe he knows. And Thor now, he supposes. If they were both in New Asgard, how could he dream of being anywhere else?

“Maybe.”

She looks over at him, then leans back with a heavy sigh. When she does this, her shoulder brushes his, but she doesn’t move away, and neither does he. They just sit there, shoulder to shoulder, sharing warmth in the quiet dimness of their ship.

“Have you thought anymore about going back to your universe?” she asks finally.

“I’ve thought of returning for a visit,” he admits—something he has never admitted to her aloud. “Eventually. But not forever. I meant what I said about keeping the Tesseract safe from Thanos, and . . . my life is here now.” There’s a long silence while he works up his courage, and then he adds, “My life is with you.”

Sif glances at him, but he can’t read the look in her eyes, and she says nothing about his last statement. Instead she says, “I suppose that if your family and Asgard are well in your universe, you could do more good here. Your family might even encourage you to stay here and rebuild the realm and keep this version of Thor company, if you asked them.”

He doesn’t object to the “your family.” After all, he’s calling Thor “brother” these days, and he’s started calling Frigga and Odin “mother and father” when he speaks of them.

Instead he says, “I suppose.”

Sif shrugs, and somehow ends up pressed even closer to his side than she was before. “I never intended to do this forever,” she says after another long silence. “I just . . . I didn’t know if I had a place in New Asgard; I know so few of the survivors, and Thor wasn’t even going to be there. But if Thor's there, and you’re there . . .”

“And we could still go on adventures and quests,” Loki says. “We’d just use New Asgard as a home base.”

“That is true,” she agrees.

He darts a look over at her, but she’s staring straight ahead, and he can’t read her face from this angle. “So,” he asks cautiously, “are we going to New Asgard?”

Sif is silent a long moment, and then she says, “I suppose we are.”

. . . . . .

**Midgard**

. . . . . .

Thor was right: the people of New Asgard are surprisingly receptive to having a Loki in their midst. It helps that Thor is so enthusiastic about having him back, and that Brunhilde, their other ruler, only knows Loki as someone who helped them during Ragnarok, so she’s very supportive of him too. So while a few people give Loki strange looks when he passes them on the street, mostly they just ignore him. Which he’s quite all right with.

Brunhilde found them a dwelling place near hers: a charming old house that was long ago converted into two apartments. Sif takes the upstairs apartment, and the Odinson brothers take the ground floor. It’s strange at first, living with Thor after all these years, but they soon find equilibrium: Thor works on remembering that this Loki is not the one who died, and Loki tries to be more like the Loki who died. They split chores. They talk. They become friends again.

Sif spends much of her time in their apartment on the ground floor, stating that she is not accustomed to being alone anymore. They eat together, spar together, and spend leisure time together. Thor comes to them with questions that he and Brunhilde are facing, and they advise him.

(It is the way things always should have been: Thor as Allfather, Loki as trusted advisor. It just took them a long time and a lot of detours to reach this point.)

Brunhilde comes to value their input as well. And the four of them make plans to provide Asgard with peace and prosperity, and to someday, when Asgard is large and stable enough, find a new homeworld for their people.

When they are not taken up with matters of state, Sif and Loki help out around New Asgard: making repairs, unloading fishing boats, planning town festivals. Thor is often busy, so it’s just the two of them, and it warms Loki’s heart that Sif still seems happy to spend so much time with him. He’d feared that once they settled in New Asgard, she would either spend all her time with Thor or she would make new friends; despite all they have been through together, some part of him still feared that she only spent time with him because they lived on the same ship. But Sif seems happy to spend all her time at his side, to take her meals with him and go on walks with him and read books on the sofa next to him and curl up to listen to the rain outside with her head on his shoulder.

They make new friends in New Asgard. They feel that they are once again a part of their community. They still talk of someday returning to their ship and adventuring again, but they speak of it less and less with each day that passes. They have found home again, and neither is willing to give it up.

And on a warm summer evening, four months after they’ve moved to New Asgard, they hike together to a beautiful hill where they can watch the sunset. Loki closes his eyes and lets the orange light and the warm breeze wash over him, and when he opens them again, Sif is staring at him.

“What?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer, just goes up on her toes and kisses him, and he only stands there in stunned surprise for a moment before his wits return to him and he’s wrapping her arms around her and kissing her back.

“Was that all right?” Sif asks a little breathlessly when they’ve broken apart.

Loki nods fervently, his arms still around her (he is not sure he will ever let go of her again). He never expected he would get so lucky that Sif would not only tolerate romance with him, she would personally seek it out. So it is more than all right.

She grins. “I figured as much,” she says. “But it’s nice to be sure.” And she kisses him again.

“Are _you_ sure?” he asks when that kiss ends. “I’m—we’re—there’s a great deal of complicated history here.”

She nods. “I’m sure,” she says quietly. “Honestly . . . I’ve wanted this for a while. But you’re right, we have a complicated history, so I’ve been hesitant. But I’ve finally come to a decision.” She hesitates, takes a deep breath, and then goes up on her toes to murmur into his ear. “Whatever our future is, I want you in it.”

Loki grins, unabashedly, in a way he tends to only do around Sif, and wraps his arms more tightly around her. “I couldn't imagine my future any other way.” And then he kisses her again, as the grass waves in the warm breeze and the sun slips below the horizon.

. . . . . .

fin


End file.
